Recovery
by SadArticle
Summary: Classic Knight Rider. Following on from my story 'Fractured', this is an attempt to capture Michael's perspective of events in Junkyard Dog. The episode features a heart-to-heart between Michael and Kitt, but I couldn't resist adding this 'missing scene!


"Is something wrong, Michael?"

The synthesised voice of his friend sounded achingly familiar after days of silence. Michael Knight reached for the driver's door, running his hand over the silken finish that he had helped apply to the grey armour beneath.

"Not a thing, partner," he reassured him.

Everything was perfect. Shining black panels glinted under the fluorescent lights of the garage. New glass in the windshield and side windows gleamed without a speck of dust. Inside the cabin, the smooth curves of the dashboard loomed larger than he remembered, after witnessing the bare metal skeleton of his partner's chassis. The buttons and gauges on the control panels looked brighter, almost garish, despite Bonnie's simplified layout.

No, nothing was wrong, but –

"Are you getting in?" Kitt asked, almost pleading. "Bonnie tells me I'm roadworthy now."

Hearing the once proud computer reduced to making such a pitiful request pained Michael. The old Kitt would never have sounded so uncertain about his own capabilities.

"I believe her, Kitt," Michael said, taking in the car from scanner to spoiler. "You look fantastic, buddy. Like a new car."

"That's because I am a new car, to all intents and purposes," Kitt confirmed.

Michael gave a distracted nod, and opened the door. Apart from the streamlined display and single monitor screen, he could have been viewing the interior of the Knight 2000 for the first time. _What's all this, it looks like Darth Vader's bathroom_? And there was an unmistakeable odour releasing from the confined space that Michael hadn't associated with Kitt for two years: an artificial blend of newly moulded plastic, electronics and preformed upholstery. It was that sterile smell of all new cars; a blank slate for the driver to make his own.

"You can say that again," he sighed, lowering himself gingerly onto the seat.

Sitting awkwardly against the rigid seat back, Michael reached for the controls. The layout of the car's interior was the same, designed around his own measurements, but he didn't feel comfortable. Like wearing a new pair of jeans, his body missed the easy fit of the old style that had been replaced. He was used to a little more give in the driver's seat, and a smoother surface on the steering yoke where his constant grip had worn away the texture.

"Are you impressed?"

Michael thought he could detect the first note of excitement in Kitt's voice since returning from the test track, and he smiled at the dash. At least the voice modulator looked the same.

"Yeah, pal, Bonnie and the others have really outdone themselves this time," he said, thinking _so did I, this is my fault._

The memory of that night at Byrock's toxic dumping ground weighed heavily on Michael's conscience. He had called on Kitt for help, like a thousand other times before, and then done nothing when the tables were turned and his partner was in danger. The rash, unthinking streak in Michael that Kitt constantly battled to regulate had urged him towards the acid pit, but that would have been suicide. In the end, all he could do was listen to Kitt's choking calls for help, and promise to come back. An ugly repeat of the past, only the last time he had been too late to act, a good man had died. _I work alone_, he remembered telling Wilton Knight, afraid of losing another partner after Muntzy.

But what about Kitt? In the early days, Michael had thrown himself into dangerous situations, confident that the computerised supercar was there to protect him. Nothing could damage, let alone destroy, the Knight 2000, so he didn't have to look out for anyone else. Working with Kitt had supplied all the benefits of a partnership – back-up, loyalty, friendship – without any of the stress. And Kitt had thought the same, always boasting of his strength and capabilities, while denying he had any human weaknesses. Now they both knew better. Kitt's CPU could be broken into and his programming altered, the car was a tempting target for thieves and assailants, and whenever the worst did happen, it was obvious that Kitt shared the same feelings of hurt, loss and shame as any man. This knowledge had come at a price for Michael, however, because now he felt more responsible for Kitt than he ever had for a human partner.

They were both lucky that Bonnie and the other technicians had been able to restore Kitt to his former self this time. Without the emergency recovery protocol designed to save Kitt's program, Michael knew he could have been introducing himself to the Knight Industries Two Thousand – K.I.T.T. for easy reference – all over again, working with a machine that lacked his partner's memories, personality and understanding. Losing Kitt forever would have been easier to deal with starting again with an inferior copy.

"I feel like I've had a complete upgrade and full valet servicing in one go," Kitt joked, filling in the silence. "My chassis is the only original part of me that hasn't been replaced. Perhaps I should have asked for a new shape as well, what do you think, Michael?"

What he wanted to say was, _I wouldn't change a thing about you, Kitt_, but the words caught in his throat. When he could speak again, Michael said, "Don't get carried away, buddy."

"I know that everything must look the same to you, Michael," Kitt continued, sounding his driver's thoughts with uncanny accuracy, "but the difference to me – inside of me – is greater than I can explain. Bonnie said the reintegration process might have this effect, but I was so keen to escape that dreadful portable recovery unit that I didn't fully heed her warning."

"Whoa, Kitt, take it easy," Michael laughed, holding up his hands. "You'll blow one of your brand new circuits." He gave the voice modulator a rueful smile. "I have noticed a difference, Kitt, and not just the effect on you. Getting behind the wheel of a new car is always a thrill – adjusting to the controls, finding out how to switch on the lights and what all the buttons do, getting a feel for the steering and the pedals. The novelty lasts until you make the space your own, and then the car becomes like an extension of the driver, a home away from home. With you, I have that already, Kitt. This is our car. But even though you're still here, and all the buttons and levers are in the same place, I have to learn to make this my space again."

"As do I, Michael," Kitt replied after a fraction of a pause. "But being back in the car is all that matters to me. You have no idea what losing my body was like – I couldn't see or talk or move. Even the portable recovery unit was a relief, at first. More than the wheels and my molecular bonded shell, though, I lost my identity. This car is more than just my home, Michael. The Knight 2000 is who I am."

Michael stared at the fading bars of the modulator. Kitt had never talked about himself like that before. Or perhaps he had never listened. "I know, partner," he said quietly. "I guess that's why every part of the car means so much to me. I spend so much time with you, sitting in this seat, facing the dashboard, holding onto this wheel, that the Knight 2000 kind of feels like part of who I am as well."

The bond between them was more than Michael had ever experienced before, with either man or machine. The car was quite literally made for him, and Kitt existed primarily to keep him safe – no other partnership of his had been so unequal in terms of duty and reward, and yet worked so well. He trusted Kitt on autopilot more than his own professional driving skills, and no longer had to program him with specific instructions – Kitt had learned to anticipate how Michael would want him to proceed and now used his own judgement. They worked better as a team, with Michael either safe inside Kitt, relying on the superior speed and defences of the car, or in close contact over the comlink.

In a way, he thought he could understand how Kitt must have suffered, with all that taken away from him. Muntzy's death had filled Michael with guilt and sorrow, but losing Kitt – watching them raise his shell from that chemical pit, and then hearing the defeat in Bonnie's voice when she had told him that Kitt was gone – had shaken him to his very core.

"I'm still me, Michael," Kitt told him simply. "It might take a while for the springs to give in your chair, or for the cabin to smell more like a fast food restaurant than an electronics laboratory, but you'll make the car your own again in no time. Until then, why don't we put the engine to the test?"

"And the suspension," Michael grinned, eyeing the Turbo Boost button.

"Oh dear, I don't think I'm ready for this," Kitt complained.

Michael pulled the door closed. "Come on, partner," he said, giving the brand new dashboard an encouraging pat. "I'll be right here with you the whole way."

"Yes, but Michael, how will this be an accurate test of my performance if you are in control and not me?" Kitt challenged over the growl of the ignition.

"Kitt, there's nothing wrong with the car," Michael promised him. "Bonnie and I went over all your systems, remember? The suspension is properly balanced, the engine is running at optimum performance, and your rocket boosters are so powerful they could send us to the moon."

"Then I must be the one at fault."

"And there's nothing wrong with you, either, pal," he snapped in frustration. "I'm not doing this because you need my help, Kitt, I'm here because we're partners. You don't have to prove anything to me, but if a circuit around the test track is what they want, then we'll face inspection together."

"Thank you, Michael," Kitt said, his reply barely audible over the deep rumble of his engine. "I'll try not to let you down again."

"You haven't let me down yet, partner," Michael told him, slipping the transmission into drive. They rolled out of the garage, ready to take on the most important challenge of Kitt's recovery: regaining his confidence.

"Way to go, partner!" he called out, focusing on the weaving lane of orange posts ahead. "Very good, _very_ good!"

Michael's excited cheers were for Kitt, but even if the computer doubted his driver's responses, there was no mistaking the wide grin on his face. Leaving behind the nervous expressions and words of caution from Von Voorman and the other engineers, he had blasted into the opening lane of markers – and never looked back. At least Bonnie would be cheering them on from the sidelines, her confidence in Kitt's future fully restored.

"It's nice to have you back at the controls, Michael," Kitt admitted, automatically stabilising Michael's sharp left turn into a narrow angle of posts.

Michael felt the subtle correction of the car's inertia, and knew that Kitt was working with him again. "It's nice to be here, partner," he answered.

The course was an undemanding series of sharp bends, long turns and straight runs, leading to a low jump for Turbo boosting and then the finale, a slab of reinforced concrete. Combined with the flimsy plastic posts that were marking the route, Michael was insulted enough for both of them. Kitt could run this circuit at one hundred miles an hour, and in reverse.

Under any other circumstances, he grudgingly admitted to himself.

Von Voorman's words echoed in his mind: _He's been hurt. It isn't surprising he doesn't want to be hurt again._ A part of Kitt was still missing, and Michael vowed that he would help his partner to restore that final component. The car didn't matter – hadn't he once told Kitt exactly that, on the only other occasion when his CPU had been forcibly removed from the Knight 2000? Nothing mattered, but building up the frightened computer into the proud, confident and outspoken personality that Michael knew – and loved – best.

Drifting into a long right hand turn, Michael and Kitt took the curve quickly and easily, avoiding the posts but hitting the late apex on cue.

"We are _back_!" Michael whooped triumphantly. "I missed you, partner!"

Accelerating into the straight, the low grey structure of the jump, barely three feet in height, signalled the final stages of the course. Kitt was silent. He had cleared the wooden block at the end of his solo run, but only barely, shattering the planks on top with his wheels.

"Stay with me, Kitt," he urged softly. "We're nearly through."

The Knight 2000 was locked onto the flimsy obstacle like a missile. Extending a finger towards the switch pod, Michael held his breath. They had cleared ravines and multi-storey parking lots in the past, but now facing down a block of wood had become the ultimate test of timing and nerve.

"Now, Michael!" Kitt called to his partner, and Michael punched the red Turbo boost button.

With a precisely computed blast from Kitt's rockets, the car launched into the air like a pouncing wildcat. Thrown back into his seat, which still refused to give under the impact – he would have to get that readjusted – Michael gave a long, loud cry of exhilaration. Nothing came close to that feeling of lift, of airlessness, while the car was defying gravity, _nothing._

"Per-_fect_!" he shouted, risking a free hand to reach out for the dash. They came back to earth with a heavy, rolling drop, sufficiently dampened by the modified suspension to prevent injury to the driver, and Michael turned instinctively to look over his shoulder.

The low grey jump, still perfectly intact, was shrinking into the distance. Michael faced forwards again, smiling to himself. Now nothing could stand in their way.

FIN


End file.
